We look for it,
And there is no form;
We hearken for it,
And there is no sound.
When men try to discuss it,
We call them dull and dark;
When they discuss it
In fictions and abstractions,
They misrepresent it.
It is deep, like the sea!
How grand it is,
Beginning again
When it has come to an end!
If it carried along
And sustained all things,
Without being weary
Or overburdened,
That would be like
The way of the superior man,
Merely an external operation.
When all things go to it,
And find their internal dependence in it --
That's what is called 'the true perfection.'
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One can look at the world as an imperfect entity, constantly being perfected through small mistakes in its infrastructure. Without imperfection, perfection would be dull.
Ron